


Okay, Okay

by rubberupandmakeitstarker



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberupandmakeitstarker/pseuds/rubberupandmakeitstarker
Summary: Peter goes to a Party and tries something new that Flash gives him. He gets in over his head, and Tony is there to rescue him, a little too late.Inspired by Okay by Chase Atlantic





	Okay, Okay

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are 18+
> 
> This fic doesn't have any fun, hot smut. Just the rape. Stay safe when reading <3

Peter lies on a couch, head lolling. He thinks he might be falling asleep, which would be weird considering how hard his heart is beating right now. The pretty blur of blinking Christmas lights above him is so hypnotic, though, that he really isn’t thinking very hard about it.

He is brought back to the surface by pressure on his belt, and he lazily lifts his head to look down. The man’s hands seem to be struggling with the intricacies of a belt buckle, but manages to peel it open easily enough. “‘Cha doin’?”

“I need some of this sweet cock.” He murmurs, yanking open Peter’s zipper and pulling his soft cock through the slit in his underwear.

Peter chuckles vacantly as his head falls back onto the couch. He feels muted heat surround his cock, and not much else. “Okay.”

With some effort, the man manages to make Peter’s body cooperate even if his nerves and his brain aren’t communicating very well right now. “Touch me.”

“Okay.” Peter slurs, eyes closed and face lax. He feels his hand being pushed against hot skin that he barely registers as a cock, only for his arm to flop off the side of the couch when he can’t force the muscles in his fingers to squeeze.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, clumsily taking off his pants without leaving the couch.

Peter’s eyes are rolling back by the time pressure surrounds his cock and weight starts to bounce on his hips. He’s vaguely aware that the man is riding him, his soft grunts just breaking through the fuzz.

Peter startles awake later, his pants still open and his cock still out. His head is a lot clearer now, and hot shame eats him up when he realizes that he is surrounded by people. Still. Just like they were when he’d got here. He hurriedly pushes himself back into his pants. His cheeks burn when it occurs to him that they were probably still there while he was being fucked, and he peels himself off the couch to find Flash.

“Hey buddy.” Flash says when Peter enters the kitchen, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him in a little too close. “How’d ya like that?”

Peter swallows. His skin crawls, the idea of so many eyes on him knowing what just happened almost enough to make him cry. “I need another one.”

“I don’t think you wanna take another one so soon after, man.”

“No, I need another one, give me another one.”

Flash looks down at the money Peter is shoving into his chest. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

Peter wheels out of the room as he pops the pill into his mouth, swallowing without water and stumbling into the mass of bodies in the living room. He doesn’t have long to wait before the feeling of eyes watching him goes away, and his skin stops crawling.

When the effects of the pill start to crescendo, the room spinning and immense drowsiness pulling Peter down, Peter stumbles down a nearby hallway. He finds a bedroom that people aren’t actively having sex in and tries to close the door behind him, but he’s having trouble telling his body to turn around and do the job. Deciding that lying on the bed is more important than privacy, Peter gives up on the door.

He lands heavily on his stomach, a lava lamp on the bedside table catching his eye. _Who the fuck still uses lava lamps?_ he thinks, but soon is utterly enamored with the slow, inconsistent blubs of green goo inside blue water.

By the time he feels the fabric of his pants being dragged down his legs, Peter is all but asleep. “Hey…”

“You can’t just leave an ass like this on display without letting people have it.”

Peter doesn’t recognize the voice, but the logic is sound. “Okay.”

“Haven’t got a condom, that alright?”

Peter feels his body being intruded immediately after the question is asked, and he’s too tired to think of a reason he should ask to stop when pain radiates up his spine.

“Okay.”

Peter wakes up with his face adhered to a cushy pillow with spit. He blinks, lifting his head to look around. The room is different than the one he landed in before, but the walls are familiar. He runs his hands over the impossibly soft sheets, staring at an expensive painting on the wall, just starting to put the pieces together when he hears a voice from beside the bed.

“Feeling alright, kid?”

Peter snatches his head to look at Tony, standing beside the bed with his mouth in a tight line. “Mr. Stark, how did..?”

“MJ called me. She couldn’t tell me what happened, but she told me I needed to come get you.” Tony crouches down to get eye level with Peter, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “When I got there your pants where around your knees and you were crying.”

Heat flashes over Peter’s face. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Tony blinks. “Don’t be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Peter shakes his head, fresh drops of shame dripping from his eyes. “No, I told him it was okay, I shouldn’t‘ve… I should have said no.”

“Do you even remember when I showed up? You were awake.”

“No…” Peter mumbles. “Did I say something stupid?”

“No. You couldn’t say _anything_. You tried, but you could barely even open your mouth.” Tony wets his lips, anger showing through his voice when he says, “There’s no way you could have said no, and you certainly couldn’t have said yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter repeats, turning his head to sob into the pillow.

“It’s not your fault, Pete.” Tony murmurs, petting Peter’s hair. “Listen. Let’s get you a shower and something to eat, and we can figure out what to do from there.”

Peter sniffles, wiping his face on his sleeve. He refuses to meet Tony’s eyes, but the warmth of his hand running down his back has a thin veil of calm falling over him.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”


End file.
